


Drink Deep, O Drowning Man

by KnightRepentant



Series: Last Angel in Heaven [7]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Gay Sex, Gen, Loss, M/M, Minutemen, Romance, Sex, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 12:50:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12557768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KnightRepentant/pseuds/KnightRepentant
Summary: The Fallen is given a warning.





	Drink Deep, O Drowning Man

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Сделай большой глоток, о, утопающий](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14170596) by [Blacki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blacki/pseuds/Blacki)



October 12th, 2288

 

Smoke climbed in thick black pillars into a troubled sky. Brick dust and the stink of melted metal clung to the scorched grass, a palette of unwholesome aromas that soured on the tongue. Broken skeletons lay strewn across the Castle yard, the dead of the Institute’s conquering army staring vacant at the sickly sun. Striding amidst the carnage was a tall, solid man with sad eyes and a solemn expression. He stopped, rifle held loose at his waist, and looked down at the mangled ruin of a Courser. Her dark glasses were askew, her black coat shredded and torn. The Fallen hadn’t managed to see her properly before, when her hands had locked around his throat. _Mack was nowhere to be seen, gloved hands squeezing his neck, his pounding heart loud in his head_ …

Had it not been for Curie’s timely intervention, his battle might have ended that much sooner. Her new body may not have been a combat model, but she possessed still the synth’s enhanced strength, hurling the Courser bodily into a wall before bringing her shotgun to bear. Now he watched her sweeping around the yard, patching up wounded Minutemen with the sweetest smile, with no small amount of bemusement. Eventually, the Fallen shrugged and reached into one of the many hidden pockets in his coat for a lighter. White smoke tumbled away to mix with the black. His wandering took him to the gaping breach in the western wall, where the mirelurk Queen had made her grand entrance so long ago. A tattered silhouette stood out dark against the encroaching mists, gun in hand. The crack of bricks underfoot brought MacCready’s head around a fraction of an inch,

“Still alive, huh?” The Fallen grinned,

“Ain’t gettin’ rid o’ me that easy.” He shoved his hands in his pockets against the cold, “You did good today, Mack, I gotta thank you for that.” Blue eyes flashed his way, hard as glass,

“No need.”

“You sure? This ‘bout what you expected when you signed on, huh?” Teal wool twisted between MacCready fingers. _God that felt so long ago._ The scarf smelled of earth and moss warmed by the sun, of leather and oil and smoke, just like Sam. On those rare nights when the Fallen was away from their bed, off on Railroad business or overseeing the construction of some new settlement, MacCready kept it close, imagining Sam’s strong arms around him and hot, slow breaths tickling his neck. _Was this_ _about what I expected?_

“Better.” He felt pressure against his back, and two hands slid around to clasp against his belly and pull him close. They stood there in silence, heedless of the bustle that now felt so ephemeral.

“Y’know,” Sam murmured at MacCready’s shoulder, “It’ll be first light tomorrow before the Minutemen can muster a war-band, Mack, you should rest up.” MacCready smirked and looked over his shoulder,

“But I’m not even tired,” He felt Sam’s laugh against his back, and the smug purr in his voice,

“ _Not yet_.”

Thunder struck its drums over and over as a torrent of grey rain hurled itself against the Castle walls. An old boot was wedged under the thick wooden door, denying all entry. Bare stone was ice cold against MacCready’s back and arms, but he found he liked the contrast with the front. Sam’s hands clasped his own, pinning his arms to the wall above his head. Condensation mixed with sweat as it trickled past his backside. The storm overhead did its job well in drowning out their exertions. Their kisses were fast and deep, almost frantic, both merely glad that they had made it through another firefight together. Their cot was barely wide enough or sturdy enough to be called a bed, but Sam tossed MacCready onto it all the same and wrapped the blankets around them both. His body was heavy on top of the younger man, copper strands tumbling either side of his face as he looked upon his lover,

“What’ll it be, Mack?” _Teeth catching at his bottom lip, I know already what he wants_.

MacCready’s hand pressed down hard on the back of Sam’s neck, pinning his cheek to the pillow. The cotton came close to fraying between Sam’s clenched teeth. _Fuck this hurts_. Mack was being as gentle as he could, but maybe... _no!_ _Take it like a man, dammit!_ He took a deep breath and tried to relax. His grunts of pain gradually shifted to a breathless groan and he felt Mack’s hips pressing hard against his own,

“You good?” A few jerks of his head were Sam’s answer, “I’ll keep it slow.” Bedsprings began a creaking protest and Sam hissed through clenched teeth and wrapped one hand around the headboard. Dirty fingernails drew red lines down Sam’s back.

The storm outside raged and thrashed, winds tore at the ancient masonry, howling loudly. Though not so loud that MacCready could not hear the low murmur,

“ _Harder_ , Mack.” He obliged, grinning at the breathless moan he got in return. His hand wrapped over Sam’s shoulder and pulled him upright,

“This about what you expected?” Sam chuckled and forced their lips together, a kiss long and deep. MacCready brought his other hand around the front and gripped tight. _Hard as fucking stone_.

“Better!” Sam gasped. The steel bedstead rang hard against the walls. Sam was cursing and groaning through clenched teeth, MacCready let his head fall back, exultant. “On my back,” he barely heard the words, “I wanna see you, Mack.” The merc nodded and leaned back slowly. Sam rolled over and lay panting, grey eyes shining darkly, all of him laid bare. MacCready’s lip caught once again on his teeth, and he ran his tongue from hilt to tip as Sam’s eyes fell closed. His kisses travelled up Sam’s belly, his chest to his collarbone. Sam pulled him close, strong hands slicked by sweat caressed the merc’s back as they kissed over and over. “You better not be tired, Mack.” A low laugh tickled MacCready’s lips,

“You wanna carry on?” Sam merely flicked his eyebrows up with a grin. His head fell back, lips parted as MacCready thrust deeper inside him. Strong hands wrapped around the merc’s waist, pulling them together, nails left their marks on shining skin. He pulled MaCready into a deep kiss, fingers tangling in mussed hair. MacCready’s hot breath was on his neck as the bed shook. His lover’s moans were climbing in pitch, his rhythm growing faster until some unseen line was crossed. MacCready’s body tensed up, only a strangled gasp passing his lips. He pressed in hard, every muscle taut, his back arched, and sent Sam over the edge. Hot rain upon his stomach and chest, ice and fire coursing through his veins. The storm took a few minutes to clear, and the two men collapsed together. Panting, MacCready leaned back with care and the pair simply sat gazing at one another, grinning stupidly.

MacCready stroked his fingers lightly across Sam’s belly, sending little spasms up his torso and making him chuckle. “Huh-holy _crap_!” Was all he could manage, his eyes devouring the sight before him. That image, of Sam sprawled and breathless, MacCready’s load deep inside him, seemed to satisfy some feral urge that lurked just below his heart. Sam sat up and stroked the merc’s cheek, prompting a slow, tender kiss. For a time they simply sat there, foreheads together, surrounded by the heat of before. But the chill of autumn soon stripped it away, and they sought shelter in a hot shower. The sun outside was beginning its weary descent. Sam scrubbed a patchy towel against his hair on the walk back to their bed, and so failed to see the Minuteman coming around the corner. The collision was minor, yet the young lass still sputtered in horror at her mistake,

“Oh god I’m so sorry, General! I was just in such a hurry and…!” Staggered only a little by the unexpected assault, Sam waved a hand in reassurance,

“I’m still in one piece, no fear. You got news for me?” Her flustered manner stilled then, and the girl met his gaze with a worried look,

“You need to hear this, right away.”

Sam swung his coat on as everyone in the Castle came to crowd around the radio. Preston held the receiver to his ear, his face filling with fear even as the Fallen watched. Sam saw the hand on his musket was shaking,

“Talk to me, Preston.”

“Insitute attack, General. County Crossing.” Sam hissed through his teeth,

“There’s a couple o’ dozen folks there by now, I can saddle up-”

“Hangman’s Alley is being hit as well.” Preston tuned the receiver to the speakers,

“This is Fischer at Taffington Boathouse, there are synths dropping in beyond the fence! Dozens of th-!”

“Moira here at Jamaica Plain, the Institute’s headed this way! I county twenty, maybe thirty-!”

“Starlight Drive-In is under attack! Looks like synths, and Coursers, we need he-!” A dreadful cold was spreading from the Fallen’s stomach,

“Tenpine’s Bluff needs help!”

“Can anyone hear this?! I’ve got synths banging on the gate at Red Rocket!”

“Kingsport Lighthouse is-!”

“Synths at the Marina!” Some of the crowd were weeping quietly, the only sound next to the frantic transmissions. Preston’s voice wavered,

“What are...how...what do we do?” Leather gloves creaked against a rifle’s stock, and there came a hoarse reply,

“Garvey...take everyone here to Jamaica Plain. It’s the closest to us. Once you’re done, move on to the Marina. I’ll go north to the Crossing and we’ll rendezvous at the Drive-In.” His resolve bolstered, Preston nodded,

“Right away, General. All right, everyone who can hold a musket come with me! We leave immediately, time is critical, people!” The Fallen didn’t wait to watch them leave. But a hand on his shoulder held him still,

“Sam.” Not a question nor a statement, but there wasn’t time,

“Not now, Mack, get yourself ready.” He hurried to the Castle’s armory, now a stable,

“Porter, I need Bessie and Grumpy ready yesterday!” The wizened ghoul stable-hand came rushing into the yard,

“Had ‘em saddled the moment we got them calls, General!” The two radsteeds snorted in their stalls, eager to be off. The Fallen vaulted easily onto Bessie’s back and dug his heels in. The pair flew out of the Castle’s gate, northward bound.

More black smoke climbed into a darkening sky. The two riders crested a hill to witness a siege. The Crossing had grown considerably this past year. Now it bore a sturdy fence and bristled with turrets, and the synths were paying dearly for it. High atop its central watchtower, a missile turret rained fire relentlessly upon the machine-men, smashing limbs and shattering ceramic armour. Laser fire boiled metal into vapour from the battlements, and the Crossing’s defenders fought furiously against the steel tide. The Fallen knelt atop the hill and brought his scope to his eye. The Hand of the One rang loud and bright, spearing Coursers as they hammered on the gates. Fifty-calibre rounds howled across the gap to fell synth after synth, judged all by the Fallen’s thundercloud eyes. MacCready knelt beside him, his rifle snapping at the air until the ground below the walls was almost carpeted with broken metal men. A few squads relayed in to reinforce the attacking army but like the sea breaking against the Castle they exhausted their strength. Soon the shouts from the Crossing turned to cheers, but their mirth found no purchase on the Fallen’s face,

“The Boathouse next, Mack, let’s go.” MacCready opened his mouth, but the other man was already leaping onto his radsteed. The long ride north-west was devoid of thought or words, MacCready was too focused on keeping his seat.

Taffington Boathouse was aflame. Coursers had breached the fence, firing their cyan lasers at any movement. One of them turned quickly enough at the sound of hooves only to see a dark figure leap from the saddle and cannon into them. A rifle butt smashed their black glasses, smashed the face behind them, a second time, a third, again, again, again...Blood splashed across the Fallen’s face as he lifted the gun. He didn’t hear the gunshots, only watched three more Coursers fold up to the ashen ground. The orchard and vegetable gardens were a bloody mire, bodies strewn like fallen scarecrows from the road to the river. A dozen wide-eyed villagers were retrieved from the smaller boathouse, most of them children with wet cheeks and shrill cries. MacCready saw The Fallen’s face as they crowded him, _he wants to stay, wants to put everything back and wipe their tears but we don’t have time. God damn the Institute!”_ He was dreading whatever came next.

Tenpines Bluff. Their approach was more cautious, but still the synths lingered. The skeletal Gen-1’s were industriously smashing houses apart, pulling up crops and executing survivors while the Coursers set it all to burn. Now a raw-throated yell was all they heard before the shots rang out. There were but a half-dozen of them, the Bluff was only five houses, at most fifteen people. But the ferocity with which they were dismembered was...unsettling. The Fallen ripped a metal arm from its socket and clubbed at any synth in reach, shouting a mess of curses and condemnations into their lifeless metal faces. The Fallen then killed the Courser...eventually. MacCready collapsed to the grass and looked around. One might think this place had simply been bombed. No houses anymore, just shadows of where they’d been, dark patches surrounded by splinters and torn metal. Scorched bodies lay where they’d fallen, staring up into a starless sky. Eventually, a rustling of undergrowth revealed a trio of terrified settlers, who all threw themselves sobbing at the Fallen. MacCready sat beside Grumpy, staring out at...all of it, or none of it. He didn’t even hear them back there, just kept looking forward. Didn’t hear Preston on the radio declaring the Marina and the Plain were liberated, that Hangman’s Alley had been lost, the Lighthouse too. When the Fallen nudged him with a booted foot, he got up onto Grumpy without a word.

The sun seemed to fight the dawn when morning came. It was a quiet time, no birds awoke to sing, no farmers sleepily tending to their crops, no shopkeepers hawking their wares. Only the shuffle of hooves on blackened earth. The two radsteeds stopped beside the water-hole, in the shadow of the crumbling movie-screen. The screen had a huge hole blasted into it now, MacCready noted absently. Starlight Drive-In was as quiet now as it had been years before. The mist that caught the feeble dawn light lent the place a surreal brightness as the pair looked around at the smouldering remains of the town. MacCready felt sick, only yesterday this had been the biggest town north of Diamond City, with nearly a hundred people. Now a breeze blew in sorrow between burned out houses, shattered windmills, torched fields, dozens upon dozens of blackened skeletons and charred bodies. They hadn’t even had to fight to make it here, the synths had already relayed away. But not, MacCready noticed, without leaving a message.

 

DESIST

 

Enormous letters glared down at them from the remains of the screen. He looked quickly between them and their intended recipient. The Fallen slid from his radsteed and staggered to the edge of the pool, where a broken water purifier lay still. The man sagged, like a puppet cut of its strings and sat hugging himself amidst the carnage. Shoulders shook before MacCready saw the tears or heard the sobs. In an instant he was at the Fallen’s side, but his touch brought out a yell of anguish and bloody hands pushed him away. The merc stumbled and fell on his rear, the pain of the fall serving as the final straw. He joined his lover in misery, weeping freely at the senseless death around him, at the crushing injustice of it all, at the sight of Sam, _his_ Sam, screaming into his hands at the water’s edge. It was too much, MacCready felt rooted in place, ready to shatter like spun glass. He was shaking from head to toe, grief, rage and panic boiling inside him, the world was filling with red mist,

“Sam?! _Sam?!”_

 

\--

 

_Drink deep, O drowning man,_

_Accept the sea’s embrace._

 

_Fear not, O drowning man,_

_You’ll not be lonely in the deep._

 

_Do not weep, O drowning man,_

_For tears will only feed the tide._

 

_\--_


End file.
